


Returning Home

by Elvesliketrees



Series: Kink Meme Fills [5]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt!Athos, Hurt/Comfort, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kink meme prompt in Round 2: Athos experiences the morning after the night before with a big difference - he wakes up to find he is still the Comte, still living in his big house with his servants and the responsibility of taking care of a district and its' people.</p>
<p>But he is ill, and according to his servants he has just awoken from a long fever. When he tries to leave, they insist he is too ill to venture out. His memories of the others, the Musketeers, the doctor tells him were just fever induced dreams....</p>
<p>Still, it was so real that Athos becomes convinced something is very wrong. When he realises he is effectively a prisoner, and too ill to rescue himself, he has to hope that Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan, Treville and Constance are actually real, and not figments of his imagination, and that they are coming for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, another fill! This is basically a very broad AU of "The Return". It has the same generic points, but with a much different element, and takes place between the seasons. This one has some weirder stuff I'm going to try, so warnings for some mental torture, confusion, and captivity.

Strange dreams drifted in and out of Athos' mind, and he drifted in and out of waking. His thoughts were a raging river, and he was a small stick, bashed around by the current and being pulled along mercilessly. As his thoughts hit a lull, he thought he saw a man leaning over him, but his thoughts once again raged through his mind. When he awoke in a sweat, he looked around blearily, not recognizing the room he was in. "Aramis?" he croaked, "Porthos, d'Artagnan?" His steward, Jacques, appeared at the head of his bed, to his astonishment. 

"Rest easy Comte, you're still weak," Jacques sighed. 

"Aramis?" he croaked. Surely Aramis would be here! But why was he home?

"I don't know anyone by the name of Aramis, my lord," he said uneasily. Athos shook his head and groaned.

"Anne?" he moaned. 

"Dead, the same fever that took you, along with Thomas," Jacques whispered. 

"No!" he growled. 

"Easy, I'll fetch the doctor!" Jacques said quietly as he dashed out of the room. Athos felt ill, so very ill, but it couldn't be a dream! He refused to believe it! The doctor came hustling in, and he tutted over his weak body. Athos' stomach was empty, and his head felt incredibly light. 

"You are very weak Comte, you'll recover, but you must rest for two months," the doctor instructed. 

"No! Treville," Athos panted, his eyes beginning to droop closed. 

"Your dreams were very vivid, I do not blame you for believing them to be real. However, they were only real in your mind, and you must rest!" the doctor placated insistently. With a sigh, Athos drifted back to sleep, his dreams plagued with laughing faces that seemed horrifically dream-like. When he awoke next, it was to Jacques coming quietly into the room bearing a tray. Athos was so weak that he fell asleep immediately after eating. His friends had to be real, five years of brotherhood and honor could not be a dream! With a sleepy sigh, he woke once again to his room in la Fere. The memories of the Musketeers were still only in his head, with no real proof. Why would anyone lie to him about the last five years? And also, why would they kidnap a Musketeer, just to convince him that the last five years had been a lie? Any kind of assault on the king's men was a grievous crime, and the risk they took would not have brought them any benefit. Besides which, he had known these people, his people, for years! What reason would they have for such a grievous lie? His scars, the scars he had received during the king's service! With fumbling hands, he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, trying to persuade his weak limbs to lift it over his head. However, his efforts were interrupted by the arrival of Jacques and the doctor. With a frown, Jacques walked forward and stilled his fumbling hands. 

"I know that you are looking for your scars, my lord, but it would only feed your doubts," Jacques sighed. Athos looked at him inquiringly, and the physician finished Jacques' musings. 

"You did yourself some injury in the throes of your fever my lord," the physician said quietly. Athos sighed, yet another excuse to discredit his memories...or were they really dreams?

"Is the Comte ready for a few dire matters that need attention? I know that he must rest, but there are one or two small matters that required his attention. The rest I am fully capable of dealing with," Jacques said cautiously. 

"As long as he rests directly after them, and is not bothered during his rest again, unless it is a dire emergency. Forgive me Comte, but you were greatly weakened by your illness, and my instructions on bed rest still stand," the physician instructed. Athos nodded and held his hand out for the papers that Jacques passed him. He signed the paper allowing the village to elect and pay a small group of men to defend her. However, the last paper caused him to raise his eyebrows. 

"We have as of late been having trouble with Baron Renard, who has been trying to get owners to sell their properties for meager pittances, saying that as they do not own the land and the Comte is ill, he can take the land himself. These papers will allow the owners the right to sell and keep their own property," Jacques said tentatively. With a tired sigh, Athos signed the papers and handed them to his steward, who beamed. 

"Send a message to Paris, if this Renard gets more forceful, even with people defending the town..." Athos said quietly. 

"I shall my lord," Jacques said softly, "And thank you." 

"This man has no right to the land, and I'll not allow him to take it, even if I will be too weak for a good while to face him myself," Athos sighed. 

"Rest now, Comte, I will have your meal delivered in an hour or so," Jacques said quietly. With a sigh, Athos settled back into the mound of pillows behind him and fell into an uneasy sleep. He was plagued by dreams, dreams of brothers with bright smiles and laughing faces, of danger and honor and blood. When he awoke next, it was to a resolution to explore the room. Jacques came bundling in with a tray as he was easing himself up from the bed. "My lord, you must rest!" he cried. He gently guided Athos back to lying down, and he felt his brow. "No sign of the fever," he murmured, "And I've dispatched a village boy to Paris with the missive."

"Please Jacques," Athos moaned, "The dreams, they plague me!"

"They are dreams, and dreams only!" Jacques said with concern in his voice, "Now, the doctor made up a sleeping tea if it is needed, and I will give it to you after this broth." After the broth came the tea, and after that a descent into a void which he welcomed with open arms. With a sigh, Athos closed his eyes and slept without dreaming. When his eyes flickered open once more, he was able to badger Jacques into letting him fill out some missives. Utterly exhausted, he was forced to quit after five, and the elderly Jacques gave him a reprimand for not speaking earlier. With a sigh, he was given the tea once more, though this time he was unsure that he wanted to sleep without dreams. How could the brothers that were so real, so achingly wonderful, be the products of his fevered mind? Porthos, who always stayed with him at the tavern and saw him safely to his room after drinking? Aramis, who bandaged his hurts and soothed his wounds, both in body and in mind? Lastly, d'Artagnan, who he saw as the son he did not, and would never, have? The days passed in a blur as the physician plied him with the sleeping tea, numbing his mind and deadening his dreams. However, they still would not stop. On the fifth day, he tossed the tea against the wall in a fit of rebellion, and the beautiful cup shattered against the wall. The physician cringed, and two servants held him down as they forced it into his mouth. On the sixth day, he exerted his influence as Comte, and commanded that he not have the tea. When they left him, probably to go get the stronger men to hold him or Jacques, he staggered out of bed, and he was almost to the door when they caught him.

"Comte, you must get back to bed!" one man said with a hand on his arm, already guiding him towards his room. He was deposited back in bed, and there they left his weak body. A crushing thought entered his mind, and he realized that he was a prisoner in his own home. There would be no escape, no daring ride to Paris to seek out his dreams. Would Aramis and Porthos and d'Artagnan come, would they rescue him? Luckily, it seemed that the tea was of herbs, not opiates, so at least Athos didn't have to fear an overwhelming need for it. The physician, Jacques, and the servants entered, and arms seized him in an iron grip. The physician forced his mouth open, and Jacques leaned over him with a sigh.

"I am sorry Comte, but if you will not rest, you must be made to do so," he apologized.

"Please, something's wrong...can't...can't be true," Athos slurred as his eyes drew closed. Every day this continued, with tea forced down Athos' throat. His limbs were heavy and weak, and his mind was a grey patch of confusion. The dreams assaulted him continuously, and he raged against any who drew near. Whispers of madness drifted into his room, but he cared not. The only thing he cared about was whether his brothers would come. He didn't know how many days had passed, but every day his doubts grew, but he knew that something was very, very wrong. 

\---

*Paris*

Treville fought the urge to scream as the Cardinal handed the king a bundle of missives from the nobility that had come in that day. He shouldn't be here, he should be assisting his men in finding his lieutenant! Athos had disappeared nearly three weeks ago, and today was the last day that the Musketeers could search before they were forced to declare Athos dead. 

"Ah!" the king chirped, "A missive from the Comte de la Fere, I thought he had disappeared?" With eyes gleaming with excitement, Louis opened the missive and read, his eyes growing dark. "It seems that the Baron Renard has over-stepped his bounds, Cardinal. He is forcing the tenants of la Fere to either sell their property for a pittance or be kicked off. The Comte has established that the owners have the right to raise a defense and either sell or keep their property, but he still has his fears. It seems that he has been ill all this time, not dead, and that he has only just awoken. His steward has been running things, and he fears that Renard won't listen!" the king explained with a frown. 

"Sick with a fever?" Treville demanded. 

"Very unusual, but not unheard of for such a long period. Especially if the patient is well-cared for, such as the Comte probably was," the Cardinal countered. Treville tried to keep from running out the door and to la Fere. He had made a note of knowing who exactly his men were, though their identities never went any farther than himself. 

"With your permission, I will go myself with three others," Treville stated. 

"Agreed, a matter of this importance requires an experienced hand," the king said. With that, Treville tried desperately not to bolt from the throne room. When the last missive was finally addressed, Treville quickly walked through the throne room and found the Inseparables. Not an hour later, the four riders were off in a cloud of dust and anger. 

\---

Athos was truly sick now, and he felt it. Even though he slept most of the day away, his eyes were lined with dark bruises. He was even weaker than before due to hunger, as he refused to eat anything, and it was a hard task to pry his jaw open and dribble in broth. It was evening when he finally broke free of the tea's chains, and he blinked his eyes open with a moan. Athos realized that he could here a strange voice from the hall, and with a jolt, his confused mind recognized the deep voice of Porthos. He straightened and tried to persuade his weak body to walk. 

"Porthos!" he croaked, realizing this his voice had only been used for slurred pleas and screams since God only knew when.  "Aramis!" he rasped, "d'Artagnan! Porthos!" Feet creaked in front of his door, and the two servants who usually held him down ran in. Athos could hear Jacques and Porthos talking, and he braced himself for a fight. He was seized, and his jaw was opened. The vile tea was forced down his throat, and a hand was clapped over his mouth to make him swallow. He tried to bring it up, but all that did was make him gurgle as the horrible concoction made its way down his throat. The hand was withdrawn, and the world started to go dark. 

"Please," he slurred, "No, no, no please." The servants shot him sympathetic looks and withdrew. When he awoke next, it was almost dawn. With a gasp, he realized that everyone would be asleep. Forcing himself to his feet, he staggered to the window. Luckily, his room was on the ground floor. As he swung himself out, he realized that he was only in his a shirt and breeches, and then he knew that he did not care. Staggering along as fast as he could, he reached the inn. Aramis and Porthos would be here, they would have to be! Pounding on the door, it was thrown open by a slim woman in a shift. 

"What are you doin'...Comte?!" she gasped, "You-you are not well!"

"Please, the Musketeers, I need them!" he panted. Her face paled, and then it steeled. 

"They aren't here, there were never any. You aren't well Comte, I'll get you to the manor!" she cried. Jeanne, Jeanne the innkeeper's daughter, that was her name!

"Please Jeanne, I can't, they'll force me to go to sleep again! Porthos! Aramis!" he cried desperately. She grasped his arm in a strong grip and proceeded to pull him along. He dropped his weight, little though it was, and she was forced to drag him through the dirt. 

"Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Just then, there was a click from the door, and Jeanne stopped in her tracks. There, standing there like a guardian angel, was Porthos. He had a pistol pointed at Jeanne, a look of seriousness on his face, and Athos realized that this was the first time he'd ever seen him point a gun at a woman. 

"Drop 'im," he said quietly, "Nice 'n easy." Jeanne only grasped his arm harder, and Athos failed to contain a wince as it sent a jolt of pain through his hyper-sensitive body. 

"Do as he says," the voice of Aramis said levelly, and Athos saw his friend leaning out a window, a musket also trained on the woman. She gently lowered him to the ground and backed away from him. With a smile, Porthos lowered his weapon and dashed towards him. Suddenly, Athos was gathered up and taken into Porthos' arms, and he shivered in the morning chill. A hand rubbed comfortingly up and down his back, and another was ghosting him over for injuries. With a jolt, Athos realized that there were tears running down his cheeks, and Porthos was attempting to calm him. Exhausted and strained, his mind began to drift away, and Porthos began to voice protests. Athos tried his best to stave off the blissful darkness, but in the end it claimed its victory.

When he awoke next, he felt much better. A hand was running through his hair, and he blinked his eyes open in the bright light. He closed them again, and would have lost himself to sleep if not for Aramis, damn him. "Oh no you don't!" the medic cried, "C'mon, we've been waiting for two days for you to open those eyes, and you'll be having a meal before a nap!" With a groan, Athos tried to bat away the medic's searching hands as they checked him over, but two large hands captured his wrists. 

"Ain't no call for that," Porthos rumbled for somewhere. With a sigh of defeat, Athos blinked his eyes open, and he was stunned to see he was back in his own apartments. Aramis and Porthos were on the edge of his bed, and he was overwhelmed with a feeling of warmth. He blinked back hot tears, but Porthos and Aramis must have seen, as he was soon cradled between them both, their arms enclosing him in an unbreakable fortress. A sob wracked through his body, and he was only held closer between them. 

"Shh, we're here, its over. Oh my friend, what did they do to you?" Aramis whispered. 

"I woke up in my bed, and they told-told me you weren't r-real! I was all alone, and I wasn't sure, and t-they said you were the fever! I-I tried not to believe it, but they kept on giving me sleeping tea!" he sobbed. Porthos' eyes burned with rage, and Aramis' eyes were hard. 

"We're here, and we ain't leavin'," Porthos soothed. 

"You're not alone," Aramis comforted. 

"d-d'Artagnan?" Athos hiccuped. 

"That's a rather long story," Aramis sighed, "We came and asked questions, and they of course denied your presence, stating that the Comte was a cousin or some such nonsense, and that he had taken ill. We didn't have proof, so we had to leave, though Treville, who was also there, said that we would return. The people were acting strange, and we spent the night at the inn. We were about to look around quietly when you showed up. We rode out of there like the devil was on our heels, and d'Artagnan and Treville stayed there to deal with the locals, though we sent reinforcements. The girl confessed everything to us. Apparently, this Baron has been causing problems so they thought the appropriate and legal solution was to kidnap you. They got you to sign the appropriate papers, and your presence was enough to dissuade the good Baron. Of course, this is both kidnapping and an assault upon a king's man, so Treville and d'Artagnan, along with the reinforcements, are down there performing arrests. It's all a good mess really, and the king  _was not_ pleased when we delivered Treville's message to him." Athos stared up at Aramis, not believing that it was all true.

"So they all..." he whispered. 

"Seems like they were all in on it," Porthos confirmed with a growl.

"Would they have ever sent me back?" Athos breathed.

"The girl said they would have, after the threat had passed and after an appropriate amount of time," Aramis hissed, "Though that certainly does not make it any less right!"

"Aye, they should've went to the king, or you," Porthos growled.

"They should not all be punished," Athos whispered.

"There are consequences to actions, my friend, and be rest assured that the baron will be dealt with as well," Aramis comforted, "Now rest, we won't leave you." And so Athos rested, safe in the arms of his friends.  

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I wanted to do the same generic things as with "The Return", only with a completely different route and a different place in the timeline, this occurring between the seasons. Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought!


End file.
